


Savior

by trillingstar



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Backstory, Community: sga_santa, F/M, Female Friendship, Pre-Canon, Romance, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-16
Updated: 2011-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Determining destiny lies more with choice than chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Savior

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my top-notch betacheerleading squad, especially [Rustler](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rustler) and [Dustandroses](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dustandroses), for everything. Summary based on [a quote](http://www.schipul.com/en/q/?348) from William Jennings Bryan.
> 
> [Originally posted](http://sga-santa.livejournal.com/304260.html) to sga_santa on December 17, 2010.  
> 

  
Melena Lahai was born on a cold Taram morning at the peak of a double equinox, an event that didn't happen frequently but it wasn't rare. Wind rattled the shutters of the old hospital, the green buds on the trees outside were closed up tight, and the confused shrieks of free-wheeling pezzi in the skies accompanied Melena's first breaths. Her name had been chosen three years prior, when her parents first began trying for a child.

She was also born during a double equinox eclipse, which had not happened for four hundred years; the last one recorded was mentioned in one of the oldest timelines in the main library's vault, its vellum pages cracked with age. She was the only baby born while the suns were shadowed and dark, and within hours she had no name at all save Prophet.

A novelty, she was kept for an extended stay in the hospital for weeks after her birth, with her parents giving permission for tests, her mother soothing Melena with song as countless vials of blood were drawn from her chubby arms and legs. After her release, a parade of well-wishers followed them home, jostling them, trying to see through her swaddling, pushing half-coins and jars of honey into her parents' hands.

The first six years of her life, she was told how special she was, how extraordinary, how amazing and unique. Scholars argued over her role in the prophecy. Entertainers offered lucrative contracts for appearances, licking their lips greedily even as they swore to her safety. Doctors wanted to test her, wanted more of her blood, her hair, her tears. Traders flocked to her parents' store in the capital city's bazaar. Crones shuffled close, wanting to touch her, whispering, _Savior. Witch._

Everyone wanted to look at her. She was revered as a treasure.

*

Finally: _Enough_ , her mother said.

They moved out of the city and into a stately three-yard house surrounded by forest. The front garden was filled with reds and coppers, the side garden an orchard for sricka berries, and the third, inside the entrance hall, boasted tiny blue baynahs that bloomed year-round and attracted butterflies. Suddenly Melena didn't care that other children were warned off playing with her, because she had woods and fields to explore, and flocks of butterflies to tame; she grew up knowing the call of the pezzi as they hunted in the woods at night. The twin globes that shone in the sky became familiar and welcome, and on her tenth birthday she discovered that she no longer thought of them as dark omens.

Her parents kept her from school for several years, not because of her supposed status, but because all children of the staggered generations were afforded Childhood. She could have gone earlier, but each time they asked her, she shook her head. No, she was not ready. No, she didn't want to leave them. No, for everyone would find out that she wasn't special after all.

Melena had never felt chosen. She knew she was pretty, but not beautiful. She was intelligent, the initial tests had shown she was smart enough to be a doctor, but not a leader or a judge. She could not paint or sculpt or sing, she was awkward with tools, had no competitive spirit, and hated sitting still for too long. A benevolent stranger had commissioned a portrait of her as a present, yet the half-finished canvas sat in her dressing room, shoved behind a shelf of timelines and other picture books.

Her girlhood ended on her eleventh birthday, and the next morning she ate her favorite breakfast and pulled on her favorite boots and went to school. Her butterflies followed her to the end of the lane, where she admonished them to stay. Their wings tinkled as they brushed across her fingers, floating in a pastel cloud until she pulled the sleeves of her shirt over the backs of her hands to deny them contact.

 _Ho-hummmm_ , they trilled. But they remained behind while she walked forward.

*

She made a few friends at school after it became clear that she couldn't light a fire with her fingertips or turn their teacher into a rangser.

"You're not a witch at all!" One of the girls in her age class exclaimed, then flushed, color crawling up her neck from beneath the tall collar of her dress.

Melena wanted to slap the girl's mouth shut. Anger must have showed on her face, because the girl stepped back, her hands fluttering in a placating gesture.

"I'm sorry, that. That wasn't kind," she said.

The anger drained away. "I'm just a girl," Melena said quietly.

"No," the other girl replied, her brown eyes widening with understanding. "You're not. Now you're my friend."

Charra's family lived nearly a day's travel from the school, so she boarded during the term. The girls' dormitory was luxurious, but it wasn't welcoming.

"Come home with me," Melena urged.

"All right," Charra said, delighted. "And you will come to my home, for Benve."

*

When Charra had brought Melena home with her five years ago, it had been to a quiet, nervous household, decorated for the Benve celebration with restraint. Charra's parents had prostrated themselves at Melena's feet, wide-eyed with trepidation and stammering apologies; it had been a hard year, they couldn't afford to follow the guide, and they were desperately sorry. Melena had looked helplessly at Charra, not understanding, and comprehension dawned only after a long-winded explanation about protocols and tributes to the Prophet, details that Melena had never known existed.

"Even though you left the city, people still know who you are," Charra said. "There's more supposition than ever about the prophecy."

"And making me out to be some horrible spoiled girl who demands personal offerings is the answer?" Melena demanded, shaking with misery and fury, her fists clenched in the folds of her dress.

Charra wiped away Melena's tears with her thumbs and kissed her forehead. "I thought for sure you'd light my clothes on fire when you got mad," she teased. "Don't be upset. Those people don't know anything about you."

It had taken another visit during the snowtime solstice for Brae and Ogun to relax around Melena, and then they had been as welcoming as Charra promised, though Ogun still approached Melena cautiously, unwilling to disturb her, orbiting around her until he was sure of his welcome. Business had been more lucrative after the first year, and Melena's status had been played with humor with the addition of a separate, miniature altar and dark cloth next to the family's larger one, the half-finished portrait taken from behind her own shelves propped against it.

*

The final tests were administered over several days, and at the end, Melena dreaded going home to empty rooms. Her parents were in the city restocking the inventory at their store; she'd finally caught on that they timed the trips to coincide with school events that could not be missed. Melena had no recollection of the capital, and she longed to join them, to go exploring, to inspect the college grounds.

Brae invited Melena to accompany Charra for some time at their homestead, so Melena packed clothes, gifts, and her butterflies in their wooden travel cage. They flittered about freely for hours at a time, but they could not keep up with the pace of the cart, and their music proved soothing over the journey.

Two days before the last feast, Charra and Brae argued, loudly, about Charra's potential test results, and Melena was fiercely glad that her parents didn't care what path she chose, merely that she was happy to have chosen it.

Charra stormed into the entrance hall, grabbed Melena by the hand and pulled her outside. Melena observed the tightness of her friend's shoulders and the furrow in her brow, and stayed silent. They walked barefoot through the fourth side-yard maze, winding around to the back of the house, and then down the grassy banks to the wide, shallow river. Sweat prickled at the back of Melena's neck and across her cheeks. It was hot under the suns, even in their lighter dresses, and she tied up her sash and overlayer before wading into the cool water. Charra kicked viciously at the eddies as they moved toward a large, flat rock in the middle of the river, but her scowl dimmed and her body relaxed as they came closer to it.

Melena took a chance, bending down to scoop up handfuls of water and then flinging it at Charra's back. Charra whipped around, mouth falling open in shock; they splashed each other vigorously, shrieking and laughing. Finally, they collapsed onto the rock and laid there, panting, listening to the rush of the current from the rapids upriver.

Propping herself up on one arm, Charra played with the wet cuff of her sleeve. "What did you think about the last round of tests?"

Melena sighed. She stared up at the clear sky. "I don't know."

"I didn't think they'd be so detailed," Charra said. "The previous ones weren't. I wonder when we'll get the results."

Everyone took the tests, even people who had never been inside of a school. Melena had taken them four times now and was guaranteed a superior occupational match.

"D'you think..." Charra trailed off, biting her lower lip.

"Do I think what?" Melena teased. Charra had questions for everything, about minute details of the exact inner workings of innumerable things and she was certain that Charra would be shunted into the research development corps.

Charra studied the rock's surface, her gaze swooping up to meet Melena's and then down again.

Melena laughed. "What? You can ask me anything."

"Do you think your results will be different, because you're the Prophet?" Charra blurted out the question.

"I..." It had been so long since anyone had mentioned it that she'd nearly forgotten the formal title. Melena's mouth fell open and she blinked away the sudden prickle of tears. "I never thought of that."

Charra's eyes widened and she shifted uncomfortably. "Probably not," she said hastily. "I mean, why would it?"

Recognizing the attempt to smooth things over, Melena let her. "You're right. I don't think it would." She smiled casually, tucking her arms up behind her head.

Turning to look out into the trees, Melena caught a flash of movement. She rolled onto her side, studying the bushes. Sometimes a ground squirrel or rabbit would come to the river to drink, but nothing so big as what she'd seen. There it was again, and this time she sat up straight, squinting into the copse of thin saplings that leaned out over the water.

"What?" Charra asked, sitting up too.

Melena frowned. "I thought I saw something."

Charra pressed up against her side, looking over Melena's shoulder. "Where?"

Melena pointed at the riverbank, and then she screamed. There was someone standing in among the trees, dressed in colors that blended into the brush.

Startled, Charra made a choked yelping sound, and then she said, "Oh, that's only Ronon."

"Who?" Melena gasped for air. She stared at Ronon, who was tall, his dark hair falling to his shoulders, and he wore the oddest clothes: a ripped, sleeveless tunic, a thick hide belt, and pants that looked as though he was sewn into them.

"My cousin," Charra said dismissively. "He's a little strange."

"Am not!" The yell sounded from the edge of the river.

Melena laughed breathlessly.

"Told you," Charra said. "Hearing like a pezzi, and he probably tracked us here."

"Tracked us," Melena repeated faintly. "What do you mean?"

"Ask him yourself; here he comes," Charra said.

Ronon had plunged into the water and was making his way to their rock. Melena felt caught off-guard, their sanctuary interrupted or somehow broken, and she hurriedly untied the overlay of her dress to cover her bare legs.

"Cousin," Ronon said genially, swinging himself up onto the rock. His leathers dripped, and he sat down cross-legged in the puddle.

"Cousin," Charra intoned, playacting at formality.

There was a conventional greeting that they could enact, but neither seemed inclined to it. Charra stretched her foot out and poked Ronon's knee with her bare toes.

"This is my best friend," Charra said, tilting her head at Melena.

Melena regarded Ronon warily, taking in his friendly face and unworried brown eyes. He sat with confidence, unafraid to be an interruption. He was younger than she had first presumed, not yet fully grown, though still taller and broader than most of the young men in her age class.

"I am Melena," she said, staring at him, waiting for the curiosity in his eyes, or the worship, or maybe the revulsion. She still got that sometimes.

"Hello, Melena," he replied. His eyes were clear. He looked happy to meet her, nothing more.

He did not know who she was, and something unknotted in her chest at this realization.

"Ronon was born in a cave or something," Charra said, her tone careless, but her body curved protectively toward Melena. "He's never even been to school."

"No school you'd recognize," Ronon said cheerfully. "My mother has exacting ideas of what is worthy of learning."

"Like... tracking," Melena said, the word feeling foreign in her mouth.

Ronon slanted a glance at her. "Tracking, hunting, fishing, skinning, cooking, fighting, defending one's self and one's family." He took a breath. "And duty. Can't forget duty to one's planet and race." The last was said mockingly.

"Call it honor, and stop scaring Melena," Charra said. "Tlana isn't that bad."

"I don't see the honor in it, cousin," Ronon retorted. He looked back to Melena, and his expression softened. "It was easy to track you; you weren't trying to evade me. You stepped where you wanted to step, and even without shoes your feet make imprints, flattening the grass." He smiled. "Plus you smell like baynahs."

Melena blushed, looking away, willing herself to stop being embarrassed over continuing a hobby that most people considered a child's pastime. "I have butterflies."

Ronon nodded. "They're waiting for you at the hedges. A beautiful flock."

"Thank you," Melena murmured. She wanted to duck her head and preen at the compliment, though she hadn't ever responded the same way when schoolmates or friends of her parents gave praise.

"How long are you here?" Charra asked Ronon. "Usually we don't see Tlana until later in the year."

"I don't know yet," Ronon replied. He looked at Melena. "For a while, I hope."

Charra snorted. "You're transparent."

Melena felt as though she had been left out of the conversation. She sat up straighter, lifted her chin regally, and tried to look unaffected, even with her damp hair and clothes.

"Maybe," Ronon said. "But being straight-forward gets results." He rolled off of the rock in a quick movement and swiped his hair back from his face. "Come, I was sent to find you. Whatever your quarrel with Brae, she's probably forgotten it since her sister arrived."

Melena watched Charra's body tense, her expression closed off, but Ronon only chuckled.

"You think I don't know where you go to get away from her? Cousin, you're the one who's transparent." He laughed, a great loud belly laugh, and Melena's attention was drawn to him. Everything about him appeared big and bold, but when he had introduced himself, his eyes had been sincere, peaceful.

"Stop calling me that," Charra said, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "It's as though we haven't known each other for years." She stood, fussing with her dress, and then took Ronon's offered hand for balance as she stepped off the rock and into the water.

Melena hung back, trying to decide if ruining the hem of her dress was worth knowing that Ronon wouldn't be able to see her legs. It was mortifying when she realized that Ronon knew her exact dilemma, and he laughed loudly again. "Come, Melena," he said, extending both arms. "I will carry you to the shore." His eyes twinkled with humor, and Melena understood, then: Ronon was flirting with her.

Boys at school did not flirt with the Prophet, or if they did, it was subtle enough that she had never noticed. Melena caught a glimpse of Charra over Ronon's shoulder and watched expressions of surprise and then something that looked curiously like satisfaction pass over her face.

Refocused on Ronon, she met his gaze and held it while she worked the overlayer up, gathering it at her waist and tying it off.

"I am fine," she said haughtily, but to show she was not angry with him, Melena took hold of Ronon's hand as she hopped down. He steadied her until she found her footing in the gritty sand, and he let go when she did. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Ronon said, though without the teasing inflection.

Charra caught Melena's other hand and pulled her close. She looked as she always did, capable and relaxed, and Melena knew then that she had correctly handled the situation.

*

At dinner that night, Melena learned that Ronon was the youngest of three children, both of his siblings were several years older and lived off-world, that he'd taken the tests as many times as she had, and that he was being recruited by Sateda's largest city-state, the capital, for their elite armed forces. Tlana, who stood nearly a head taller than her son, who saved all of her smiles for her sister, and who had dismissed Melena in a single, scathing glance, could not have been prouder. Moreover, she wanted to make sure that everyone else sitting at the long table understood how the government's interest in Ronon's skills lent validation to what sounded, to Melena, like a miserable Childhood, spent learning how to stand still as a tree or how to gut a rangser in five simple steps.

Sprawled in a chair that creaked ominously when he leaned forward, Ronon's face retained a schooled expression of blankness; Melena observed him pretending indifference to his mother's oration, rolling his eyes occasionally. He kept the food bowls moving, always passing across the table to Melena, instead of the traditional right, and Tlana noticed eventually, reaching out for a slice of the roast and grasping at air instead.

Conversations started up at both ends of the table as Tlana leaned closer to Ronon, her expression dark as a thundercloud. Melena kept her head down and rearranged the vegetables on her plate.

"You will not disrespect me, son," Tlana said lowly.

"I wasn't," Ronon protested, but his voice cracked.

"Remember your future," Tlana said. "Do not be fooled by a wisp of a girl pretending to be a prophet. Science and strategy is the winning way, not folklore and the toss of divination runes."

To Melena's left, Charra sucked in an angry breath.

"Not worth it," Melena whispered for Charra's ears only, though she knew that Ronon heard her as well.

When she raised her head, Melena saw that Ogun looked uncomfortable and she hastened to smile brightly at him, so nothing more would draw attention to her or to Ronon.

Talk at the table turned to politics, with conjecture on the latest rash of proposals to reach the Commons, ones that asked for pledges from Satedan citizens to bolster its defenses and stand against the Wraith during the next coming. Rfurn, a neighbor from up the hill, dismissed the proposals in a superior tone, stating they would never even make it to the Council, let alone become a reality, and immediately found himself embroiled in a heated discussion with Tlana, who backed the ideas.

"Times are long gone when we can only sit idly by and let monsters destroy our numbers and our world," Tlana said angrily.

Charra reached for Melena's hand under the table, squeezed it tight, and asked to be excused before the next course. Brae nodded at them, and then towards Ronon, whose mouth had plumped into a belligerent pout. He was busy latching onto every food bowl within reach and piling them next to Tlana, and Melena suppressed a hiccup of laughter at the sight.

*

They all three sat in a row with Charra in the middle, their backs pressed to the outer wall of the fountain in the second-yard, and they were silent as the house lights flickered on, as the first stars winked at them from the pale amethyst sky. A cool wind thrust down into the garden and whipped past their upturned faces, and Melena heard the lilting chime of wings.

Melena sat up. "Butterflies!"

"They sound lovely," Charra murmured.

"I forgot to feed them," Melena said miserably. "We were supposed to stop at the hives on the way back from the river, Charra." She groaned. "We can't go in the dark; we'll never get past the bees."

"I'll go," Ronon volunteered, and he was on his feet in the time it took Melena to blink.

"What? No," she said. "Bees are dangerous at night, everyone knows... they..."

Ronon had disappeared.

She looked at Charra, who shrugged unconcernedly. "As I said earlier... a little strange."

"You don't mean that," Melena said.

"I do," Charra said. "Though I'm not saying that it's a blot against him. Look, he lives in the woods with his militant mother and they probably fight rangsers before breakfast. She's kept him sheltered, but he's been in training for special ops since he was six years old. Six." She stressed the number. "What were you doing when you were six?"

"Tlana didn't let him have Childhood?" Melena asked. The thought made her feel sad.

"He's only a year younger than us, right on the cusp, so she could get away without it," Charra replied. "I know my parents hated that, but what could they say? Ronon's not their son."

"What about his own father?" Melena inquired.

"Culled," Ronon said in a clipped tone from above them, and Melena was glad that her face was shadowed so Ronon could not see her blush.

"I'm sorry," she said to her knees, feeling small.

There was a rustle of fabric and she turned her head as Ronon crouched down next to her. She heard the clink of glass on stone, watched as he uncapped a jar, the thick, clover smell of honey rolling out. He tipped the contents into a large feeding bowl and recapped the container, slipping it into a bag tied to his belt.

"When I was six," Ronon said. He stood, drenched in moonshine, and Melena avoided eye contact, looking over his shoulder at the advancing cloud of butterflies lured in by the scent of the honey. They separated around Ronon as though he was rooted in the earth, pouring down over his frame, the wings beating against his face clanging with hunger.

Melena stared. Backed by the silvery light and surrounded by butterflies, he looked like a character in one of her most cherished picture books, a mountain man who possessed mystical powers. She wondered what his hair would feel like under her touch.

Charra cleared her throat, sounding as though she might laugh, and Melena jerked her gaze away, tapping the glass bowl with her fingernails and her flock tumbled over each other in their excitement to reach the food.

"Thank you," she said, raising her eyes to Ronon once more.

"My pleasure," he said, his voice gravelly. He nodded once at Charra. "Cousin," he said, formally, and then he turned and left the yard.

They watched him leave, and then sat in silence for a few moments, watching the butterflies quivering joyously over the slab of honeycomb laid out in the feeding bowl.

"I suppose that passes for 'have a good night,'" Charra said. She flicked her eyes up at Melena. "You like him."

"Of course I do," Melena said lightly. "He's your family, and it was very kind of him to fetch the honey."

"I am not your mother, or Brae, or Tl-ana," Charra singsonged. "I know you, and you like him."

Melena found she had no reply, so she said nothing.

"He likes you too." Charra touched the rim of the bowl and let one of the nectar-drunk 'flies collapse onto her finger.

"Oh yes, I am sure we are destined for each other," Melena snipped. She did not know why she felt so defensive. "A warrior and a prophet, we will mesh so well."

Charra regarded her thoughtfully. "Actually..." She grinned. "Let me draw you the picture: you're hunkered down with your brews and potions, throwing the bones of animals that he's killed for you, he'll come home with dirty armor and blood snaking down his arm where he's cut himself during sword practice, and you'll--"

Melena did not find out what she would do next in Charra's scenario, because she pushed herself at Charra, running her fingers up Charra's ribcage, listening to her squeal.

"Just... just make sure..." Charra panted. "Make sure that I am to have the honor title of matchmaker at your wedding," and the last word turned into a drawn-out giggle as Melena tickled her more, until they both tired, lying heaped together next to the fountain as the sated butterflies swirled above them, humming contentedly.

*

While the festival celebrations wound down, most of the household reveled in the final days of gaiety, but Tlana kept Ronon busy with various training exercises requiring that he was out of the house by dawn. He helped with the harvest in the orchards, thatched the aviaries, and made sure that Brae and Ogun's kitchen was well-stocked with fresh game. The front-yard was wide open, laid with cobblestone, and voices reverberated; just listening to Tlana's task list each morning from the warmth of her bed made Melena tired, even after a full night's sleep.

The morning after she had met Ronon, Melena opened her door to find another jar of honeycomb on the mat outside. The second morning, there was a tuft of pezzi feathers tied with a bit of colorful string, then a tiny pink fossilized shell, its edges smoothly rounded. At mealtimes, Ronon sat to the left of Melena. On the final night of Benve, after Ogun and Ronon built up the bonfire until it was a blazing tower of flame, he sank into the seat next to Melena that Charra had abandoned only seconds earlier.

"Your hair looks pretty," Ronon said.

Melena touched the clasp where she had affixed the pink shell. "Thank you," she replied. His hair had been combed back from his face, so she said, "Your hair looks pretty, too."

Ronon gaped at her for a moment before letting loose with a deep bark of laughter, and heat twisted in Melena's stomach at the sound. On the opposite end of the bench seating, Tlana made as though to stand up, and Melena watched with amusement as Charra plunked down, waylaying her with conversation.

Shifting over, Melena pressed her leg against Ronon's leg, and another burst of heat shot through her as his muscular thigh flexed. Ronon moved too, his hand falling naturally onto his leg, and Melena heard him take a steadying breath before he covered her hand with his own. The touch was electric. Melena closed her eyes as what felt like sparks from the fire raced up her arms. When she opened her eyes, Ronon stared at her, his expression predatory. Melena licked dry lips. "Tracking me," she said quietly, and the flare of comprehension and then admiration in Ronon's eyes was the best sort of flattery.

The day after their escalated flirtation at the bonfire, Tlana and Ronon left the homestead. Ronon wouldn't meet Melena's eyes, instead acting as though he was itching to start their trek. She felt slighted, the feeling amplified by Brae's too-wide smile in the wake of Tlana's grudging farewell. If Tlana had chosen to leave on account of Melena's presence, she needn't have bothered, for the next morning a message from Melena's parents arrived, relaying the good news that her results had come and to please return home.

Melena hugged Charra for good luck; Charra promised to write as soon as she knew her own results.

"You know I'll never consent to Brae's prospects for me. If it gets bad around here, I might show up on your doorstep," Charra said.

"You know that you are always welcome." Melena hugged her again. "I will see you soon anyway. First term starts in less than a month."

Charra pulled back. "That might change," she teased. "For I believe you will have other things on your mind."

*

Though she knew that Charra meant her words as a joke, Melena was reminded of Charra's earlier musings on how the prophecies could affect her life's path. She would not have admitted it, but the thought of being denied a meaningful role in society scared her. She had no concrete idea of what the tests would tell her; she'd had nightmares where she took the tests repeatedly and the results pages were always blank.

The cart lurched suddenly to a stop, the motor cutting out, and Melena threw her arm out to keep the butterfly cage from tipping over. There was a knock on the door. Melena pushed the curtain aside, expecting to see the driver and to hear an explanation about the engine, but instead she saw Ronon.

He lifted one hand in greeting. "Room for one more?"

A smile tugged at her lips, and she ignored how relieved her voice sounded when she answered, "Yes. Yes, of course."

Ronon waved to the driver, swung his pack up onto the roof, and came inside. The engine turned over, revved a few times, and then the cart moved along without incident.

They rode for several minutes without speaking. Ronon unfolded his legs and stretched them out, his boot heels to the far side of the cage, angled away from Melena. She knew this was a courteous action, making sure that whatever muck on the tread was kept separate from her, and she felt a thrill of pleasure that he had thought to do it.

Then he leaned back, reclining against the seat, and his tunic rucked up. Melena caught a glimpse of dark hair and tanned torso. She dropped her gaze to her feet, never more aware that the insides of distance carts were practically beds, all comfortable padding, made for lying down and relaxing.

She cleared her throat. "I thought you were headed home."

He grinned at her, smoothed his hand down his chest and covered the peek of belly. "Didn't feel like it."

Melena raised an eyebrow. "Oh." She had the disagreeable thought that Tlana would be sitting stiffly in the receiving room when she arrived home.

"I have to be home at the end of the week," Ronon said. "Or before then, I guess, if you don't want me to stay with you."

"Of course you can stay," Melena said quickly, the reflex to be polite kicking in. She looked closer, saw hesitancy in the way his neck bowed and that he was sitting on his hands, perhaps to keep from fidgeting. "I want you to stay," she clarified, and her reward was his wide smile.

"Okay," he said nonchalantly, as though he would be doing her the favor.

"How did you find me?" Melena asked. "And don't say it's because I smell like baynahs."

Ronon chuckled. "Your parents told me the route."

Melena's mouth dropped open in surprise. "My parents?"

"Your father," Ronon clarified. "He threatened me with an axe. I like him."

Melena shook her head in confusion. "Draw me the picture," she demanded.

Ronon outlined the story briefly. He had left Tlana at the crossroads, sought out Melena's home, introduced himself to her parents and, apparently, greatly admired her father's paranoia. Melena did not interject that this was a side effect of having a daughter who was called Prophet. Still, he had thought ahead, and presented them with a letter from Charra, who had vouched for his sincerity and trustworthiness. They had shown him the map of her route, told him the name of the driver, and passed along a note of their own.

"I could still kidnap you," Ronon teased. "Take out the driver, whisk you away to my cave in the mountains."

"I have to find out my results, and then I may take you up on that," Melena said. "Although, a cave? I'd prefer something with windows."

Ronon mimed taking notes. "I can help you there, too," he said, reaching into a side pocket and withdrawing a yellow envelope. He waved it at her. "Unless you don't want to open it with... maybe you want to open it alone."

Melena snatched the envelope out of Ronon's hand and ripped it open, then stopped, the paper crinkling in her tight grasp. Her heart beat wildly in her chest from the spike of adrenaline, but now she was frozen.

After spending several moments spent listening to herself breathing over the quiet thrum of the cart's motor, Melena cast a stricken look at Ronon, who leaned forward.

"You want me to--?" He gestured at the enclosed pages.

Wordlessly, she handed him the envelope. He shook the papers out and gathered them up. She watched anxiously, trying to determine if her nightmares were about to come true, if the pages were blank.

As though he could read her mind, he flashed the top sheet at her and she went limp with relief, for there was writing, and lots of it.

"Okay," Ronon said, skimming. "Dear Melena Lahai... Thank you for maximizing your results by taking the tests all of those times..." He looked up at her, eyes crinkling with laughter. "My version's not so stuffy."

Melena thought she might have whimpered, because Ronon's expression grew serious and he resumed reading.

"All right," he said, sounding impressed. "They want you to be a healer."

The buzzing noise in Melena's ears receded. Her mouth opened and closed, and she pushed herself up, bouncing onto her knees, and launched herself at Ronon. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she hugged him as hard as she could, aware that she was saying, "Yes, yes, yesyesyes," in his ear and not even caring about having lost control.

Ronon hugged her back, keeping his touch light, and made room for her along the side of his body, releasing her instantly when she drew back.

Melena hesitated, but she'd already thoroughly trampled the boundaries between them, so she turned onto her side, resting her head on Ronon's shoulder. His hand fluttered near her shoulder, not quite touching. She fumbled for his hand and twisted their fingers together, bringing their clasped hands to rest on her collarbone. Ronon's whole body relaxed.

"I can't believe it," she said, awed by the news. "A healer. Me."

Ronon squeezed her hand. "I believe it," he said.

They lay side by side for long minutes, the faint whine of the engine audible from the front of the cart overlaid with shushing noises as butterflies rubbed their wings together. Melena studied Ronon's profile, his dark eyelashes, the shape of his nose, the fullness of his lower lip. There were three brown spots arching out from the corner of his eye like daubs of paint, and she let go of Ronon's fingers so she could touch, skimming lightly over them.

Ronon didn't move until Melena withdrew her fingers, and then he turned his head toward her. Their faces were so close that Melena could see individual lashes from the sweep under his eyes, so close that she could see a reflection of herself in his eyes and feel the warmth of his breath on her chin. She felt as though she should say something to put distance between them, even if she didn't want to move.

"I'm not sure that they're right," she confessed in a whisper.

"After my father was culled, we lived with my grandparents," Ronon said.

Melena frowned, not understanding the connection.

"I know that Charra thinks her aunt harnessed me to a yoke and never let me draw breath on my own," he continued. "But it was my grandfather, Tlana's father, who first taught me how to track, how to hunt. Brae wasn't ever interested in learning how to defend herself, because that would be admitting that there was something to be feared."

Melena interlaced her fingers with Ronon's and held their hands to her chest, below her throat, listening intently.

"When he lay dying, it was his healer who helped us get him through the Gate. We went to Talus, to the shrine. She led us there, and she knew when to take him." He paused, not breaking eye contact. "Do you know why adults don't keep butterflies?"

Melena shook her head. "It is a child's hobby."

He arched an eyebrow. "Children are full of wonder, and that shows in everything they do; it's all new to them. Butterflies stop singing when people mature, and it's not anyone's fault because we're supposed to change and grow."

"You're saying I'm not mature," Melena said, biting her lip.

"No," Ronon said. "Listen. Healers are known for their empathy and care, and for their connection to the natural world. No mistake has been made. They are right to have sent you these papers."

She might have kissed him then, but something he'd said echoed in her mind. "You've been through the Gate!"

He grinned, big and easy. "Lots of times."

The intensity that had flared bright between them moments before settled effortlessly into a comfortable intimacy. Melena settled her head more firmly against Ronon's shoulder. "Draw me those pictures," she requested, wanting to hear his voice, wanting to know his stories.

*

The evening was spent lingering over a grand meal that included favored dishes to celebrate Melena's well-received results. They sat in the front-yard, drinking wine and telling stories. Halfway through the one that highlighted Melena's stubborn insistence that she could swim across the lake - she had been eight, and her father had met her on the other side with a towel and a proud smile - she realized her parents spoke of her as though Ronon was her suitor, playing up her strengths. She looked over at Ronon, who caught her eye and smiled, the sparkle in his eye saying they shared a secret.

They were all late to bed. Melena was pulling the covers up over her shoulder when she remembered that Ronon had the drafty corner bedroom. She shoved her feet into slippers and pulled a thicker quilt that smelled of cedar from her bed-chest.

The door to the guest room was ajar, and the lamp was on its lowest setting, making shadows jump wildly on the walls, as they would in candlelight. Melena knocked softly, and then pushed open the door. Her breath caught in her throat. Ronon's back was to her, his skin golden in the low light, and she stared at the muscles that flexed as he turned toward the door. He had stripped out of his tunic, belt and boots, and his fingers paused on the snap of his pants. Melena raised her gaze to meet his, taking the long route up his side, chest, and throat. She knew she was acting as poorly as boys who only ever talked to a girl's chest, and she fully expected Ronon to take offense, to glare at her, or maybe even to laugh at her rudeness, but when she met his eyes, the look in them was not one of anger.

She shivered involuntarily, hands clutching at the blanket.

Ronon was a gentleman, for he never broke her gaze as he reached out for the quilt.

"I-- I thought you might be chilly," Melena stammered.

"I might be," he replied agreeably, and flung the blanket onto the bed.

Suddenly overly aware that she was in her nightdress, ogling her houseguest in his bedroom, Melena stepped back.

"Melena," he said.

She halted, poised to pull the door closed.

"Thank you." He smiled, one that gave her a possessive thrill, and there was nothing to do but smile in return.

"Dream well," she said softly.

"Then I will dream of you," he said.

She stared at him for a long moment, her mouth quirking as she bit back a giggle.

"I will," he insisted, and her laughter drained away, leaving behind only affection.

"All right," she conceded. She shut the door, then spoke to the wood. "And I of you."

*

The suns shone brightly overhead as they walked the path that led to Melena's favorite outdoor spot. They had food and a blanket in a pack tied to Ronon's belt, and Melena's butterflies were far enough away that she could hear only the faintest tinkle. The woods would soon thin out, and the ground would turn from dirt to grass, with tall stalks of yellow wheat that rose up to her hips. Still further on, down a gentle slope, the valley came to a point with a waterfall, rock walls on two sides of a pool and a natural drain sending the spillover back through the earth. At the end of the arid season, the water merely trickled over the reservoir, and there was no risk of erosion in the sandy bank.

Melena had often spent long afternoons stretched out by the side of the pool, or in the shade of the low overhang of leafy branches, or in the water, floating peacefully in the sun. She loved it, but as she and Ronon crested the hill, she felt nervous, wondering if it would seem boring or childish to someone who spent most of his time outside.

Ronon let out a loud whoop when he saw the sparkling water. He flashed Melena a smile, then grabbed her hand and tugged, and they raced down into the glen, nearly plummeting into the pool. Melena fell to her knees, breathless, at the water's edge. She caught the wave of Ronon's excitement, watched as he kicked off his sandals, stripped out of his shirt and pulled the tie from his hair. Within seconds, he was naked and diving into the water, his feet disappearing into the splash. Melena had never seen anyone disrobe so quickly, and she resolved to compliment him on this ability when he resurfaced.

In theory, it was just enough of a tease, but in practice, Melena did nothing but stare when Ronon stood up, the water lapping at his thighs, sunlight caught and trapped in the streams running down his body. He used both hands to slick back his wet hair, and then he reached out for her, beckoning her closer, a wicked smile playing at his lips.

Melena recognized the tactic - if she got too close, he was sure to pull her in, clothes and all - so she took a deep breath and untied the overlayer, then the skirt, and finally shimmied out of her shift, leaving on only the tiny, flat petticoat that covered to the tops of her thighs. The sunshine warmed her legs. She looked at Ronon, making sure that he was watching, and that she wanted his attention while she undressed came as a surprise. She unhooked the collar from the dress, and then shrugged out of her top. The day was warm, but her skin pimpled with chills, and she started to cross her arms self-consciously, then forced herself to stop. Ronon had bared himself to her, and she would let him see her, too. She wanted him to see her.

He had drifted closer while she bent over to untie her sandals, and his voice sounded rough. "You're beautiful."

Her head jerked up, her mouth was dry, and she couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to say, so she took action instead, springing off of the bank and tackling Ronon. She wrapped her arms around his neck as they sank underwater and there were bubbles all around them. His face was made wavy by the water and creased in laughter.

Coming up, the air felt colder than before and her hair slapped heavy and wet on her back. Ronon hadn't let go, and her nipples hardened, pressed against his chest, droplets of water sliding down their skin. Buoyed by the water and the wash of exhilaration she felt at being wrapped up in Ronon's arms, Melena surged forward and kissed him. Somehow she had pictured the kiss landing chastely on his cheek, but he caught her mouth with his and she clung tighter. Their lips brushed together, over and over, the same rush of sparks chasing up her arms as she had felt at the Benve bonfire.

Ronon's arms slipped from around her shoulders to her waist, and he held her high enough that her feet did not touch the floor of the pool. She felt as though she was suspended between water and sky, connected to Ronon by soft lips and a hint of tongue. His hair slipped through her fingers and he groaned into her mouth when she dragged her fingernails down the back of his neck.

Her petticoat rose to the surface, fanning out around her hips. Ronon's hand smoothed down her back, pushing the material down over the curve of her behind, keeping his hand there.

"Wrap your legs around me," he said, rising out of the water.

It was easy to do as he directed, to feel the slick glide of her calf on his flank, to feel the hard length of his cock against her, separated only by the thin layer of her petticoat. She felt inexplicably carefree, so pleased to be here, in her special place, with him. Melena let go of Ronon's shoulders and fell backwards with a splash, her legs still twined around his waist. She spread her arms out, floating on the water, looked up into the cloudless sky. She heard the chiming of her butterflies closer to the shore. Tilting her chin up to look at Ronon's face, she was struck by the intensity of hunger and desire on his face, and she tightened her thighs around him in response.

There was a blur of movement and he lifted her, wrapping an arm around her waist and slinging her over his shoulder. She dared to smack one palm firmly down on his backside, and felt the vibration of an answering growl along her thigh draped across his chest. Ronon dumped her onto the grass. With one hand he fumbled the blanket loose from its ties, spread it on the ground and then pushed her onto it, following and covering her body with his own. Melena tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer.

They kissed, slowly at first and then more heatedly, their bodies drying in the warm breeze. Ronon was careful as to where he put his hands, touching her sides gently, murmuring words into the soft skin above her bellybutton, kissing a trail up between her breasts and up the side of her neck. He lifted her left hand, and then her right, kissing her palms reverently. "Hands of a healer," he said quietly. "A treasure."

"You're my treasure," she said impulsively. "A warrior and a healer. It's a good balance."

"I don't want to be a warrior," he confessed. "I want to be with you."

She had to kiss him again for that, and then she brought his hand to her breast; he cupped it, stroking his fingers along the sides and underneath, and she moved under him until he fell to the side, pulling her close until she lay flush against his chest.

"You track and hunt as if you were born for it," Melena said. "I'm not surprised that they want you badly. You do it so well."

"Just because it's what someone else wants for you doesn't make it right," he said.

His words struck her, almost hurtful, because she understood that truth. She had seen it played out with Brae and Charra, and had been avoiding returning to the spotlight her whole life. She had resisted the role of Prophet, seeing it only as an obligation and an unwanted task.

"I'm supposed to save everyone," she said, turning her head away.

"According to who?" he asked. He tipped her chin back toward him, fingers gentle on her jaw.

"I don't know," she said. "Some soothsayer hundreds of years ago."

He bent closer, touching her forehead with his own, and then kissed her eyebrow. "Things change over hundreds of years."

"Yes," she admitted.

"Maybe you don't need to save everyone. You'll be a healer; maybe you'll save someone special." He kissed her other eyebrow.

"You're full of strength," she said. "Not just here--" and she touched his arm, his leg, "--but, here." She splayed her fingers over his heart.

"A healer and a warrior," he repeated. "I'll protect you," he vowed, his gaze intent on her.

"Yes," she said, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I know you will."

Snagging a corner of the blanket, she pulled it up over them, winding her arm around his waist, hugging him. She could see her flock playing over the surface of the pool, coasting across the water and then spiraling upwards, dancing in the sunlight.

"My treasure," Ronon said softly, kissing the crown of her head. He combed his fingers through her damp hair.

Melena listened to the jubilant harmonies of her butterflies mingling with the thump of his heartbeat. He did not need to draw her any more pictures. She would fulfill her destiny.  



End file.
